


solace

by oceansinmychest



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Ballie, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Female Friendship, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, One Shot, Platonic Cuddling, Season/Series 04, Season/Series 05, prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:47:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23744797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceansinmychest/pseuds/oceansinmychest
Summary: The bitter exchanges speak to a great tension, deeply rooted in a familial dynamic. Prison is unkind to everyone regardless of the masquerade before the steel bars set in place.Kaz comforts Allie after Bea's tragic passing.[Floats along the S4-S5 timeline.]
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	solace

**Author's Note:**

> Rewatching S4-S6 made me reflect on the friendship between Kaz and Allie. I always wanted to flesh out some of the interactions between them so I decided to focus on the aftermath of Bea's passing. My best friend, Ben (A-list celeb), also encouraged me to write this after I went on a tangent lol. I reckon I owe him a fic involving himself with Jakey.
> 
> This fic takes place after the S4's finale and acts as a segue into S5. There are glimmers of Ballie within. Hope you all enjoy. :)

> “I’ll keep you safe from pain, truth, and other poisoned devils.” – _Pet_ , A Perfect Circle

Life, in all its cruelty and beauty, takes a toll. Surrounded by ghosts both living and dead, Allie Novak tosses and turns knowing no peace. Her legs kick about, coltish in a frantic desperation to break free. Young Iphigenia had thrown herself onto the dinky mattress as though it were a funeral pyre destined for sacrifice. The starchy, scratchy, prison-issued blankets leave imprints upon her pale flesh. Retreating to her melancholy refuge known as a cell, a false fever makes her shiver.

She misses Bea’s strong, sinewy arms wrapped around her. Grappled by a bout of lethargy, her limbs feel heavy. Just laden with grief, her body’s made of tight knots as she chokes on the ball lodged within her throat. Nausea churns her gut. She thinks that she’s sinking, falling further into an inky abyss of relived memories. Crying herself to sleep is the new norm.

In her interrupted rest, she sings her sorrows. Soft, little bleats get muffled by the sheets.

She weeps and clutches her pillow until Proctor the Protector seeks entry. Kaz Proctor watches over her like some guardian angel. Allie reminds her of a pup she fed and snuggled to keep warm during childhood. During those golden years, she had an affinity for nursing things back to health. There’s a ping of remorse for ever pulling Allie into this ruinous mess.

Earlier in the day, Kaz added a white rose to Bea Smith’s shrine. Gone too soon, rest her soul. Now, she checks in on a lost, little lamb. Her worn knuckles scrape the doorframe, her face a scrunched up portrait of concern.

In Bea’s absence, she has big shoes to fill. Kaz’s grief radiates a white-hot anger that she swallows. She has so many women to look after, a flock to tend to, that extends far beyond the reach of the Red, Right Hand. That god-like wrath keeps the flame burning bright.

“I know it hurts, sweetheart.”  
  
A soft, gentle tone casts no judgment.

Seeing Bubba in pain strikes a chord, severs a raw nerve. With a penchant for nursing broken wings and broken things, she remembers the strung out haze.

She recalls how Allie looked back in her days of volunteering at the woman’s shelter - practically a child, but high off her bloody mind. From start to finish, she saw her quit the gear. Forced her off, cold turkey, and held her when she spewed, when she shivered, when she moaned for another fix. It wasn’t easy to watch, to be present.

In an inseparable bond, a mother loves her child, protects her child; after the emotional abandonment of Kaz’s mother, she vows to right that terrible wrong. Karen has a knack for luring in strays. Her heart bleeds far too much.

The black bra straps dig into her already weighted shoulders. A small, thin braid adorns her mane. Around Allie, she lowers her guard.

When Allie startles as a result of a nameless, shapeless nightmare, Kaz flinches, but switches to prompt defense to cast aside all demons. So weak and powerless, sniveling over her sad, sorry state, Kaz lets her grovel, lets her nuzzle deeper into tenderness’ embrace. After all, this is her best friend, her sworn and loyal companion.

Allie stirs with a whimper while her body stiffens while she struggles to look up, as if the irony of prison is not lost upon her even in her dreams.

For once, Allie isn’t off her face. She grapples with her feelings, unable to put a name to them. Kaz rakes her fingers through wilted, damp golden locks. To avoid ruining the moment, she coddles the little bird and keeps her close, but not too close.

Inching closer to the bed, Kaz rests her lined, worn hand upon Allie’s. A firm squeeze of the hand serves as a meager reassurance. How innocent Allie looks, aside from the coquettish flutter of lashes and the occasional purse of her swollen pink lips when she groggily stirs awake. Gingerly, she brushes the strands of hair from her face

Camaraderie goes a long way.  
  
Tough as nails, but with a soft spot for those in pain, Proctor sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping from the pressure of their combined weight. Chaste and respectful, she strokes her back, she lets her rest. She massages that weary, aching spine. A light drag of the nails. Kaz wants for nothing more than to take away Allie’s pain.  
  
How easy a heart breaks and manifests as a twisted, mangled physical ache.

Will Kaz ever find and know a love like that?

With a whimper, Allie claws at the fabric of Proctor’s teal trousers, still in a drowsy state. Allie swears she smells a faint trace of Bea’s shampoo. How she lingers here in the sheets.  
  
This isn’t the first time she’s swept back her ruffled, golden hair. The bitter exchanges speak to a great tension, deeply rooted in a familial dynamic. Proctor leans back to ease the soreness that ails her muscles, one palm spread flat across the mattress. Prison is unkind to everyone regardless of the masquerade before the steel bars set in place.

“You’ll be right as rain, kiddo,” comes further reassurance from a subdued tigress. 

She strokes her hair and manages to utter all the right words.  
  
“Oh, Kaz,” she whines, unable to stutter much more in the midst of her lamentations.

Kaz’s ratty, gaudy, over-sized pink robe flaps and covers a part of Allie. In a pose close to the sculpture depicting Pietà, she cradles the withered body of a young woman bent in two. It takes her back to her volunteering days. How that tore her asunder, but in raw determination, Kaz persisted, eager to leave an impression. To help and offer compassion despite all her tempestuous rage towards injustice.

Quietly, she watches Allie crawl closer to rest her head in her lap.

Has she failed to keep Allie safe? In the women’s shelter, when they first met, she had helped the girl recover from a particularly nasty withdrawal. Held her hair back when she spewed. Cleaned her off when she made a mess of herself. It was done with a maternal love, a forged bond.  
  
Warmth rekindles feelings once lost. She dragged this poor alley cat into a complex mess. It’s never ok to pull another mate through the mud. Allie is her found family, her companion both beyond and behind these cruel iron bars. Perhaps she coddles the girl too much, this surrogate daughter of hers. Oh, how she’d still put her life on the line for this one.  
  
“Bea lives on in you,” she murmurs and nearly chokes down her own tears, too affected by the emotional tide.

Comfort sought and comfort found, Kaz drapes a protective arm over her, though it’s no shield from all the chaos to come. Conveying such tenderness and with a great fondness, Kaz refuses to relinquish her delicate hold. She hugs her, entwines her arms around slumped shoulders, though nothing compares to the bliss of being perfectly entangled with Bea.

Briefly, Allie contemplates on the possibility of fulfilling Kaz's monumental legacy. She doesn't speak, preoccupied by smoothing out a wrinkle in Kaz's robe that flows like an endless river. Novak, at times, feels aimless in the leaps and strides that Proctor makes. Placated by generosity and starved for touch, it’s simply enough to have her here. All the misdemeanors seem minor in their attempt to remain united. Solidarity and the ties that bind them to the Red Right Hand have fleshed into a deep, meaningful connection.  
  
Karen holds on, not as still as stone, but warm and pliant, downright maternal towards the daughter she’s always been meant to look after.  
  
“You don’t need the gear, bubba.”  
  
Kaz hums a little song.

Allie curls into a ball on her bed, nuzzling into every hug and caress. Pacified, it is a simple longing to be held, to be comforted in great times of need.

“Kaz, I’m clean,” she promises, she swears, her voice thick and choked from all the tears spent.

Lips brush against her fretting brow. The ghost of reassurance soothes Allie. She feels the Sandman's presence wash over her.

“I just want you to be happy,” Kaz coos, surprisingly mellow for a woman comprised of wildfire.

Grief transforms into a typhoon of rage when she vows to attack Ferguson in the courtyard armed with a cue ball-cum-gauntlet. In a state of mourning, she thinks her wings are burnt to a crisp. She’ll never have the supernova high she experienced with Bea.

Days and weeks from now, Allie will never spoke up against Mr. Stewart.  
  
Brushing aside tousled loose strings with delicate fingertips, Kaz knows Allie well. She’s watched her dearly beloved friend blossom and bloom.

Eyes closed, her chin rests on top of her head. She coddles her surrogate daughter, savors the feel of golden fleece against her cheek. An expression of her love comes as a delicate caress, a soft squeeze of the shoulder that assures her that she’s still here, still standing.

She lets her rest her weary head where it’s a safe, kind place. Allie pretends to sleep until she actually is asleep, drifting off to dream of Bea. Sleeping Beauty misses feeling safe and secure in Bea’s strong arms, but when Bea felt weak, she wrapped herself around her in a warm embrace until they were lulled by one another’s steady heartbeat.

“I’ll always love you, Bubba.”  
  
She plants a final kiss on the crown of her head.

Kaz emits a deep sigh in privacy since she refuses to let the ranking of Top Dog get the better of her.

Worry creases her brow. Proctor finds herself prone to hero worship, her heart bleeding for valor and retribution. Bea became a martyr and Christ, she hopes to live up to that complicated image. With her heart pounding against her chest, Karen swallows everything. In perfect solitude, she rests her head in her hands.

This life wears you out and wears you down.

In a cold sweat, Allie rouses from her slumber, left alone. She hopes to wake up in Bea’s arms, but the moment never comes. Delicately, her pinky curls as she imagines her seahorse latching on. Her heart swells and she turns to the sketches left behind, a living image that provides her with a glimmer of hope.


End file.
